"...the environment not only shapes behavior, but also the way of perception?"
This sentence, like a stone cast into a calm lake, sent ripples silently across the smoke-filled study.
The influence of environment on human behavior, a basic common knowledge in literature and psychology, had begun to spread in the 19th century and was also put into practice in numerous literary works.
This was also the main reason for the decline of "Romanticism"—in novels before the 19th century, there were always characters, especially protagonists, who existed outside of or even transcended their environment, often changing circumstances and turning things around with immense spiritual power.
It stemmed from the emphasis on the individual since the "Renaissance"—affirming human value, potential, and worldly happiness, and advocating human reason, emotion, and creativity.
Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe is a typical example, though it is not a work of Romanticism.
The rise of Realism, and even Naturalism, questioned and overturned this creative approach, placing characters to act under the environment, believing that human behavior was a product of the environment, but without revealing why this was the case.
The Naturalist writers in this room could usually only attribute it to natural heredity and human pathology—which, of course, was too extreme, so Naturalism only flourished for less than 30 years before fading away.
Lionel's newly proposed "environment shapes perception" was groundbreaking, seeming to touch upon a subtle spark that everyone had vaguely sensed but couldn't quite grasp.
A brief silence enveloped the room, broken only by the crackling logs in the fireplace and the bustling sounds of traffic from the street outside.
Zola was the first to emerge from his contemplation, leaning forward like a lion sniffing out new prey, his gaze sharp:
"Léon, please continue!
This goes a step further than merely documenting behavior and environmental influence!
You're saying the 'numbness' and 'sense of involvement' of the young lad are 'perceptions' shaped by the environment?
Do our eyes, the way we see the world, also breathe in the air of the environment, like our lungs, and then get transformed by it?"
Lionel inhaled the choking haze filling the room, from cigarettes, cigars, and pipes, thinking that if he attended a few more salons, his lungs might indeed be transformed.
So he slightly raised his hand:
"I forgot my cigarettes, could someone lend me one?"
The old smokers in the room all chuckled.
The young Huysmans pulled a shiny flat silver box from his jacket, opened it to reveal a row of cigarettes, and deftly flicked one out:
"'Caporal', made with fine Indian tobacco leaves."
Lionel took it and put it in his mouth, and Huysmans struck a match to light it for him.
He took a deep drag; without the buffer of a filter, a pungent, spicy, yet rich smoke instantly filled his mouth and nasal cavity, making him cough several times.
However, no one mocked him; instead, their gazes towards him became more amicable.
Lionel slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke, then nodded:
"Yes, Monsieur Zola, our eyes can indeed be transformed.
What does the 'young lad' witness daily?
Workers haggling over a few sous for drinks, the proprietor racking his brains to water down the wine, endless foul-mouthed bargaining and arguments...
In such an environment, 'sympathy' or 'deep reflection' is a luxury, perhaps even an obstacle to survival.
To adapt, or rather, to live 'normally' in this environment without being crushed or ostracized, his perception must undergo a certain... 'dulling'."
"'Dulling'?"
Flaubert repeated the word, his eyes sparkling under his thick eyebrows as he turned to Zola,
"Émile, this sounds like your field.
We all understand physiological adaptation, for example, how a worker's hands develop calluses.
Then can our noble souls also develop calluses?"
Flaubert's words were less a question and more a subtle prompting, guiding his 'young' old friend to exercise his talent. (Zola was under 40 at this time.)
"Absolutely possible, Monsieur Flaubert!"
Zola eagerly interjected, as if Lionel's words had opened a new window for him.
"Think of the workers who have spent their lives in the mines; isn't their 'habituation' to darkness and dust precisely a dulling of the senses?
Léon, do you mean that the young lad's 'turning a blind eye' to the Old Guard's suffering is not innate callousness, but rather a 'habit' formed by his mind for self-protection, being in that specific 'social climate'?
A kind of... learned numbness?"
By the end, Zola couldn't help but stand up and walk over to Lionel.
"Precisely so, Monsieur Zola,"
Lionel affirmed, appreciating Zola's keen association and marveling at Flaubert's skillful guidance.
"The tavern is his mine.
Long-term immersion has led him to spontaneously block out the perception of 'suffering'—especially the 'inappropriate,' unchangeable, and potentially troublesome suffering of the Old Guard.
He sees, but he no longer feels the sharp sting within it.
He might even unconsciously participate in the mockery, as this allows him to briefly blend into the group and gain an illusory sense of security.
This 'shaping of perception' is more thorough than any external coercion, because it is internalized into his instinctive way of seeing the world."
Lionel skillfully avoided some terms that had not yet been coined and would require cumbersome explanation.
Flaubert instinctively remarked:
"You mean 'spectators' and 'collective unconscious'?
—Oh, others may not have seen it, those are terms Léon used at an internal inquiry meeting at the Sorbonne.
I've had a copy transcribed; you can take a look."
As he spoke, he walked towards his large desk, lifted the red velvet cloth covering it, and took out a stack of manuscript papers, handing them to Émile Zola.
The others pondered these new terms they had heard tonight: 'environment shapes perception,' 'dulling,' 'spectators,' 'collective unconscious'...
Ivan Turgenev, who had been listening in silence, now spoke slowly in his Slavic-melancholy voice, smoke curling around his fingers:
"Ah... this reminds me of winter in the Russian countryside.
The extreme cold not only freezes the body, but sometimes the soul too.
Landowners turn a blind eye to the suffering of serfs, neighbors are indifferent to the plight of neighbors... not because they are inherently evil.
In that 'purgatory,' the soul, to avoid being consumed by despair, has to wrap itself in a thick shell of ice.
Monsieur Sorel, the gaze of the young lad in your writing is that shell of ice.
It is both protection and a cage."
Alphonse Daudet was deeply moved, his gentle face showing compassion:
"This explains that peculiar sense of oppression I felt when reading The Old Guard.
We are not struck directly by the Old Guard's suffering, but rather pierced by the gaze of the 'blindly indifferent' young lad!
This is more... more suffocating than directly describing suffering itself.
Today I understand—it forces us to reflect: have we ourselves become 'dulled'?
Have we also 'adapted' to certain imminent sufferings out of habit?"
...
Flaubert listened silently to the discussion.
After a long while, he slowly began to speak, his voice low and powerful:
"So, Léon, you've made the 'young lad' as narrator a prisoner of the environment, and used the prisoner's gaze to observe the suffering of another prisoner, the 'Old Guard.'
Prisoner watching prisoner, suffering becomes mere scratches on the cell wall, ordinary, even... with a touch of diversion.
This is the deepest tragedy, the coldest truth! This is a 'constrained perspective' that I have never seen or thought of before!"
At his words, everyone was astonished.
If Lionel's "environment shapes perception" struck a match in the darkness, Flaubert used that match to light a torch.
(End of Chapter)
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